His Anchor
by anyanka77
Summary: Post Last Vow, Minor S3 spoilers. I can't not write a touch of angst. Enjoy :-) I also never know what to rate anything because I am not always sure where the muses will take me.
1. Chapter 1

_Come to Baker St. I need you. – SH_

John sighed a little at the text. He wanted to ignore Sherlock and continue having a lie in with his wife, but the phone was persistent.

_For the safety of Mycroft's life. I need to you. – SH_

John tensed a moment, worried, but also wondering if this was another over urgent text from Sherlock that would lead to something as simple him needing a tea and being too lazy to get up and get it himself.

_What's happening? – JW_

_We are having lunch today and I am worried I might kill him. – SH_

John laughed and Mary pat him on the chest, having read over her shoulder.

"It's okay John, go play mediator at lunch with the Holmes boys. If it's with Mycroft it will at least be something fancy. Bring me back something posh." She kissed his cheek and struggled to lift her massive pregnant self out of the bed. John hurried to his knees on the bed beside her to help her get to her feet, pausing once she was up to rest his head on her belly and give it a gentle kiss.

"I promise to not let your uncles murder each other today. Don't torture your mum." Mary laughs and tousles his hair.

"Better hurry, the longer you put it off the more he'll make you want to pop him one."

"Very true."

John knocked on the door as he walked in, expecting to see Sherlock agitated and twitching in his chair, maybe taking some of his more violent thoughts about his brother out on his violin, but instead was greeted by the last thing he expected to find on the couch at 221B. A girl. In pajamas.

"H-hello" John sputtered, his face a wash of confusion. She was curled on the far end of the couch from the door, a laptop propped on her knees. Lounging like she didn't have a care in the world in her pink tank top, striped pajama pants and one of Sherlock's dressing gowns. She looked to be in her late twenties maybe 30 if she had taken really good care of herself, with dark red hair pulled into a high ponytail.

Her eyes flicked up nonchalantly. Electric blue/green eyes that seems to be unable to decide which color they were. "Oh, Hi John, love the blog."

John had just opened his mouth to ask the burning question of _Who the hell are you?_ When Sherlock breezed in, dressed in one of his impeccable suits and crossed to the girl. Completely unfazed. "Hello John." He pushed the laptop closed quickly, almost catching her fingers in it. "Go get dressed."

"Jesus, Sherlock! You almost took my fingers off!" John noted that, to add even more to the mystery of this girl, her accent was American with some odd twinge of English under it.

"And you miraculously survived. Go!" Sherlock replied dryly, taking the laptop from her and setting it aside on the desk. She heaved and over dramatic and over acted sigh and uncurled herself from the couch. Stretching up to give Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, making him playfully grimace before she disappeared through the kitchen and back into his bedroom.

John watched the scene with a slightly amused and confused look. Did Sherlock have a girlfriend? Wait, no, he'd seen this already, Sherlock didn't date. The last time it looked like he was dating someone, he proposed so he could get into someone's private office and got shot. Surely this was not happening again.

He finally spoke. "So who does she work for?"

Sherlock was pacing a bit, watching his bedroom door and looking like he was ready to crawl out of his skin. "What?"

"The girl, the girl on your couch, in your dressing gown, now more than likely naked in your bedroom" Sherlock pulled a face. "Who does she work for? The last time you dated a girl, you got shot."

Sherlock looked disgusted. "Oh God, John, I'm not dating her." He paced down to his bedroom door and rapped on it with a touch of irritation. "Do hurry up, while I like to make Mycroft wait, I feel like this is not the best time to get on his nerves."

"Calm down will ya! I'll be out in a bit." She shouted back, the irritation just as clear in her voice.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" John finally settled into his chair and waited. Sherlock moved over to fall into his own, drumming his hands on his knees. Distracted.

"What?"

"Who is she Sherlock!?" John finally stopped mincing words.

Just as he was about to answer Sherlock popped up from his chair, hearing the bedroom door open the girl re-emerged in a black cherry print tea dress, black cardigan and red Chuck Taylor shoes, arranging her ponytail into a bun on top of her head. She strolled over to the mirror above the fireplace to put on her lip gloss. Sherlock gave her a quick once over as she walked and shook his head.

"Nope. Shoes. You can't wear sandshoes to lunch. Mycroft is putting on a show and taking us to someplace very pricey and again, while I would love to see his face, today is not the day."

She spun on him with a look that could peel paint. "Stop telling me what to do, Sherlock!" John watched them with utter confusion and then rubbed his face.

"Stop doing things that force me to do so. Shoes. GO."

She heaved another mighty sigh and stormed back to the bedroom "Fine!"

"You're not dating? You two fight like you've been married for twenty years. Shit, she's not secretly your wife is she?" John laughed at the thought but the laughed faded as Sherlock didn't answer. "Sherlock tell me you're not married."

"No John, not married." Sherlock was clearly distracted as the girl came back, having changed into cherry red ballet flats, looking like she could kill him. "There, was that so hard."

"I don't see why my shoes matter that much, but if it makes you happy." She smiled, John noted it was almost like the smile Sherlock would give when he was only smiling because I thought he had to.

He finally snapped and stood, spinning to stare them down. "Will someone PLEASE tell me what is going on here?!"

"John Watson, I'd like you to meet Ainsley Holmes." Sherlock draped an arm over the girl's shoulder. "My little sister."

John shock lasted a bit longer than Sherlock expected. His friend stood staring at them for a solid two minutes, shaking his head and repeatedly opening and then closing his mouth.

Ainsley laughed awkwardly, "I think you broke him."

"You may be right. JOHN!" Sherlock's sudden volume snapped John out of his fish impression. "We have to meet Mycroft for lunch, shall we?"

"Yes, but wait. You have a sister."

Sherlock helped Ainsley into her coat before shrugging on his own. "Yes."

"Sister, like, you have a mother and father and she has the same mother and father." Ainsley laughed a little. Sherlock just shook his head.

"Yes, John, that's typically how it works. Do keep up."

John followed them down the stairs, still completely confused. "But, she's American."

"Not exactly, I can explain tha-." Ainsley started but Sherlock cut her off.

"Later, we're late now."

John acquiesced, "Alright, then, American sister, no big deal, off to lunch."

The closer they got to the restaurant where Mycroft waited for them, the tension in Sherlock deepened. John watched his friend's jaw and fist tense. He knew the brothers didn't always get along, but this seemed like a new level of stress. John was about to ask Sherlock if he was okay when he saw Ainsley rest her hand on her brother's tensed fist and gently say. "It's going to be okay. Don't pick a fight with him. The past is the past La, just let it go. Please."

Sherlock appeared to relax a little, loosening his fist and turning his hand over to hold hers, but clearly couldn't let it go. "It's just hard." He turned to her and gave her a tense, weak smile, clearly trying to make her happy. "I've never forgiven him."

"I haven't either." She replied. A cloud going over her expression before she turned away.

Mycroft was 14 when his parents let him know they were having another baby. He let them know immediately that he felt that was a horrible idea. Look how the other one had turned out.

Sherlock was 7 and a bundle of excitement and worry. Excited to possibly have someone who would want to go on adventures with him, but worried that they would bring home a mini Mycroft. Either way, he just wanted a little brother.

He was mildly disappointed when his mother brought home a girl. A screaming, red faced girl who seemed to never shut up and was perfectly useless as an adventure buddy, but it faded quickly. When his mother lay the tiny thing in his arms, and she stopped screaming, curling against the boy as if she knew he was her family, he fell in love. "I think she'll do, Mum."

Once Ainsley was old enough to walk and talk, Sherlock had a near constant shadow. As time wore on, the fun of being a big brother was starting to wear off a bit.

Sherlock's temperament was always mercurial. He wanted to be able to control it, and knew that the only way he could retain the appearance of an even keel, was to retreat into his own mind when everything got to be too much. That could be a real challenge when one had a little redheaded monster storming to follow when he tried to escape and calm down.

"La, why are you so MAD?" Ainsley's little fists pounded on his door. He clenched his teeth.

"I'm not mad. I am angry. Mad means insane. I am not insane." He repeated the last part quietly to himself. He was 14 now, and he was having a harder and harder time keeping the constant noise in his head organized and quiet. "I'm not mad." He whispered to himself, rubbing his temples and sliding down the door, pressing his back to it.

Ainsley let her head rest of the closed door between her and her brother. "I didn't mean it La, I'm sorry." Even though she was barely seven, she had learned how to calm him, soothe the scary times with her brother. "You're not mad, you're angry. It's okay. I'm sorry."

He slid to one side and cracked the door open, letting the little girl into his room. She curled up next to him and rest her head on his shoulder. "I don't mean to yell at you. It just get so noisy in here sometimes," he tapped his temple and then let his head rest on top of hers. The next came out as barely a whisper. "I heard Mycroft telling Mum and Dad that he thought they should sent me away."

He closed his eyes tighter, the memory replaying with over saturated clarity in his head

_Mycroft sat almost inhumanly straight, his hands folded neatly on his lap._

"_I'm worried for you and for Ainsley, Mum. He's just getting worse. What if he gets violent? How long will it be before he loses control and hurts you? Hurts her?"_

_Sherlock's fists balled at his sides as he listened to his brother's overly calm words. He would never hurt his sister, but it was taking a lot of control to not hurt his brother right now._

_His mother spoke up, "I don't know if sending him somewhere will help him Myc, you work in that system, you know some of those places," she shook her head, "the things they do there, are almost worse than no help at all."_

_Mycroft leaned forward, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I know, but there are good facilities, reputable ones. They can help him. It's just, safer."_

_Sherlock couldn't hear anymore. He knew his brother had always thought he was a mistake. That he thought Sherlock was stupid and damaged, but he never thought he would actually hear his brother tell his parents to get rid of him._

_He stormed off, his mind screaming, so loud it hurt. _

"_Are you okay, La?" The voice was tiny and far out in a sea of noise. _

"_SHUT UP AINSLEY I NEED TO THINK!" He didn't mean to snap when Ainsley asked him what was wrong, but he couldn't hear himself over the noise. _

Now they were on his bedroom floor, and he could feel himself calming a little, tethered to the anchor that was the tiny girl curled against him.

"He think's I'll hurt you." He mumbled softly.

"I know you never would, La. It's okay now."

He never intended for her to get hurt, but control was something he was slowly losing as time passed. He stated to think his brother was right.

"Sherlock!" The voice floated somewhere in the distance, a fluttering ghost of sound on the periphery of his mind. It was growing insistent.

"SHERLOCK!" It was right over him now, shaking the walls around him.

He felt a sharp smack. Mycroft stood over him, shaking his hand and looking down at him. He felt the heat on his cheek.

"Sherlock, where is Ainsley?"

"What?"

Mycroft grabbed his shoulders and gave him a firm shake. "Where is Ainsley?"

Sherlock's senses started to come back into focus. He smelled smoke. What happened?

"She was in the kitchen. Oh God, Mycroft what is happening?"

He didn't get an answer, he just watched his brother run into the house, calling for their sister.

Ainsley was curled in a ball in the corner, squeezing her eyes shut and rocking, talking quietly to herself. "It'll be okay, He didn't mean to, it's okay." Mycroft scooped her into his arms, hugging her tightly to him before setting her down on her feet and turning her left to right, checking her over. The sleeve of her shirt was singed black, burnt and torn away. An angry red burn crawled up the little girl's arm from her wrist to her shoulder. Mycroft sprung to action to tend to the wound.

Sherlock barely saw her, as he followed into the kitchen, still half trapped in his own head. "Is something on fire?"

Mycroft held the little girl to him, whispering. "Jesus, Sherlock, what have you done?"

Sherlock didn't know, all he remembered was working in the kitchen on an experiment. Bunsen burners and questionable chemicals. He wasn't getting the result he wanted to he closed his eyes and scanned his memory for the answer that he knew had to be there, when he opened his eyes his brother was slapping him and screaming.

What Mycroft discovered once his sister and brother were being tended to by medical help and his parents had returned home, was that from all appearances, Sherlock had been working on his experiments, not watching Ainsley, who had been playing under the table while he worked, had knocked over a burner and accidentally caught one of the girl's sleeves on fire. Sherlock had done nothing to help her, trapped in his own mind. This had to stop.

Sherlock spend several weeks in the hospital after that and when he came home. Ainsley was gone.

"Mum, where's Ainsley?" Sherlock asked, feeling a pang of panic in his chest.

"We need to talk Sherlock." She steered him into the parlor, where his brother and father sat waiting.

They had sent her away. His mother didn't want to send him to an institution, she knew that he had not meant to hurt her, but Mycroft was worried that if they didn't either send him or her away, she would be hurt again.

Sherlock didn't understand why his brother hated him so much. Hated him enough to take away the only anchor he had left in the world, but he understood that if she had stayed, he might hurt her again, and that thought killed him.

Ainsley was sent to live with an aunt in America, and Sherlock, never tried to love someone again.

John didn't know what to say, when Sherlock disappeared into his own mind, Ainsley had explained where she had been all this time. She spoke without looking at John, just watched her silent brother stare blankly out the window. When she pushed a strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear, he could see the faint pink spider web of a scars up her arm. He recognized the pattern.

"He never meant to hurt me. He's got so much in there, it just, steals him sometimes. You've lived with him, you know. He just gets so lost, and I know it's silly, but I used to think that maybe I could save him. That if I could just anchor him here, and not here." She lightly tapped her temple. "He'd get better, but Mycroft was right. I'd never tell him that," She let out a dark little chuckle, "God, if he even knew I said it he'd never let me live it down, but he was right to convince Mum and Dad to send me away. I know it hurt him that they took me away, but it would have killed him if he hurt me again. He didn't even keep in touch for a long time. Just Mum and Myc, but I always asked about him. Worried about him. Was so proud of him when he came out the other side. I have wanted to come back for so long, but I worried that it would do more harm than good." She finally turned back to John, "Mycroft told me what he did, that you were there. I had to come back. He needs an anchor now."

Ainsley put her head gently on his shoulder, tapping his knee gently and whispered. "You need to come back to us, La, we're here."

Sherlock let out a little hum, and put his hand in hers again. "I'm ready."

"Ainsley, you look –"Mycroft scanned the girl up and down, "lovely."

Ainsley tucked the errant strand behind her ear again. "You look—"she gave Mycroft a similar scan, "old." Sherlock laughed and Mycroft shot him a look that turned the laugh into a cough.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed on his brother. "You're late."

"Talk to your sister, she was the one who refused to get ready."

Mycroft relented, "Well I do suppose that when you haven't seen someone in years, fifteen minutes is not a big deal." He moved forward and in a gesture very unusual to him, gave her a tight hug. John saw Sherlock tense a little when Ainsley's sleeve pulled up and showed more of the angry pink scar. The constant reminder of how he had hurt her. She pulled broke the hug and pulled her sleeve down quickly, Mycroft eyeing her arm, and making her feel self-conscious.

"So—lunch?" John asked, breaking the tension for a moment.

"Yes." Mycroft said after a moment. "We have some things to discuss."

They moved to the table that had been reserved for them and he set straight to business. "So, I assume you will stay with Mother, then."

"No, she's staying with me." Sherlock shook his head at Mycroft as if he said possibly the stupidest thing a human could utter.

"Do you think that's wise?" The genuine concern in Mycroft's voice made both Sherlock and Ainsley ruffle. John knew what he was implying.

"Baker Street is a safe place, Mycroft, if he's really alive, I don't see him bringing the fight there."

Ainsley's brow furrowed, "If who's alive?"

The men ignored her. "It also is unwise to broadcast that there is someone here that Sherlock cares about. That nearly go you killed once John, I don't want my sister in that path."

"He don't get near her." Sherlock added through a tense jaw.

Ainsley snapped a little. "Will SOMEONE please tell me who you are talking about?! Why is it not safe to stay with my brother? Why do you always want to pull us apart?"

Sherlock put a hand on her arm for a moment. "He has a point, but I am not listening to him this time. He's not pulling us apart."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can the two of you please take a moment to think like two adults and not as sentimental children?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to snap back, but came up with nothing. He was not a man who was sentimental, but even he had to admit that having Ainsley back, made him feel something.

Mycroft continued. "I'm not trying to pull you apart. I just want to make sure that since you are back," he turned to Ainsley, "that you are not a target to get to Sherlock. You shouldn't be here, it's truly not safe and I am sorry that I scared you and made you think you had to come."

Ainsley's tension never eased. She had thought that Mycroft was supportive, that when he had told her about the extreme that Sherlock and gone to, that he had murdered someone, point blank, to save a friend, that he truly wanted her to come and try to help save him. It never crossed her mind that he was telling her this to continue to keep her away. "I'm happy to see you too, Mycroft." Her words dripped with venom. She then turned to Sherlock. "I need to leave now, La."

He nodded, "I need to finish talking to Mycroft. John, can you take her back to Baker Street, please?"

"Sure thing." John stood and offered her his arm. Pushing aside the pang of disappointment that they hadn't even ordered yet. He looked back over this shoulder as he walked her out at the two men staring each other down and felt the overwhelming need to lessen the tension. "I know a better place for lunch anyway."

They walked slowly back to Baker Street with their take away from the small fish and chips shop down the road. Ainsley had not spoken much at all since they have left the boys behind to fight. Thankfully John was used to silent Holmeses. Not that he didn't try.

"So, Ainsley, I have been dying to know since before we left."

She replied with a half hum.

"So, yeah, where did 'La' come from?" He figured there had to be a cute story, and maybe a way to tease Sherlock, in the origin of that pet name.

Her face eased into a smile finally. "It's pretty silly acutally, but, really, what 3 year old can say Sherlock? All I could say was Shala for a long time, and it kind of stuck. Eventually, it just became La"

John chuckled warmly, "What did you call Mycroft?"

She joined in his laughter, "Oh he insisted I learn how to say his full name or nothing at all. I called him 'Him' for a full two years."

"So it was Mum, Dad, ShaLa and Him. Sounds like a good time."

"It was the best."

Sherlock stormed into Baker Street and hour later, looking to all the world like he could tear the world in half with his bare hands and went directly to his bedroom.

John moved to follow and Ainsley shook her head.

"It's been lovely chatting John, but I think I need to talk to him alone if that's okay."

He nodded, "Okay, you have my number if you need anything. Take care."

"I will."

John left quietly.

Ainsley walked down the short hall to his bedroom, knocking lightly on the door.

He opened it let her in without saying a word, walking back to the spot where he had curled on the floor, his back against the wall. She slid down beside him. They sat in silence for several minutes before he carefully took her arm and rolled up her sleeve. She hated that he was going to focus again on the history of their shared pain. "I wasn't your fault; it was just an accident."

He shook his head and didn't say a word. She wasn't sure why but she unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. Tracing a finger over the faint scars of tracks that remained from his lowest point. "It hurt you too."

After another long silence, he finally spoke. "He thinks you should leave. I'm not sure that I don't agree with him."

She swallowed and looked away, fighting the overwhelming urge to cry. She had missed him, she always missed him, and while seeing him now also hurt a bit, seeing the detached and someone empty man he had become, she ached to stay and try to get some of the boy back that she remembered. Even if it was only a sliver.

"I will if you tell me to." She finally managed to strangle out, a tear falling down her cheek.

"Please don't."


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft felt an unwelcome wave of nausea. What had his brother done? None of this made sense. How had it gotten this far?

"Oh Sherlock, what have you done." He looks down on his brother as he slowly lowers to his knees and the team of armed men approach and detain him. His mind flashes back to the child he knew, the damaged child who seemed like he would never recover from the loss of his beloved dog. Then briefly flashed to the look of blank defeat on the same boys face years later when I learned that the only other thing he had ever made the mistake of loving, his sister, had been taken from him to, because of his own actions.

Mycroft's mind sped into action. He was loath to admit it, but all he ever wanted was what was best for his little brother and sister. He had to find a way to fix this. His brother was a murderer.

As if by some bizarre cosmic joke, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it purely by reflex, the words on the screen barely registering.

_Happy Christmas Mycroft. Please give La my love. – AH_

He was on auto pilot, his mind rolling over everything he could do to save his brother. His fingers flew over the phone without thinking.

_He's just killed a man. I don't know what to do. – MH_

_I'm coming home. – AH_

The words didn't register for Mycroft until much later, he never meant to tell Ainsley. What had he done?

It was hours later when he simply replied.

_Don't – MH_

He knew the options for Sherlock were few and she didn't need to be here to see her brother fall apart. Either of them.

When the option of exile and inevitable death on a no win mission was the only one left. Mycroft knew, with grave finality, that he was going to lose his brother, his sister, and the small shards of what could be called humanity he had left buried deep inside him. He hadn't lied when he told Sherlock his loss would break his heart. He could feel the cracks as he watched his brother say his final goodbyes to his closest friend.

He steeled himself and went through the motions of finalizing his brother's death. Watched his get on the small private plane and fly away.

"Miss me?" The horrific ventriloquist image of Moriarty asked, mocking the world.

Maybe this was not the day for Sherlock to die.

ooOOoo

Sherlock was escorted back to 221B after having spent hours with Mycroft, Lestrade and John trying to make sure everyone would be safe. Who was behind this? He saw the man die.

He couldn't make his mind quiet, he walked blindly into the front lounge, tossing his coat on the couch and falling into his chair, his hands steeple over his lip, elbows on his knees.

The building is empty, Mrs. Hudson having been taken to a more protected location, so he was safe to go deep into his own head, knowing no one would pull him out. As he started to close his eyes, he heard the doorbell. His eyes flicked to the door, he was sure he'd put that insufferable bell in the bins outside of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen before he left for his ill-fated holiday gathering, but with no one else there, he felt compelled to see who was causing the noise. He strode to the window with a touch of odd apprehension and looked down. There was a woman on his doorstep, carrying a backpack and bundled against the chill, rubbing her glove clad hands together as if they did nothing to fight the creeping cold blowing outside. She rang again. The noise jarred him but he kept watch, willing her to leave. Now was not the time for a client, he just had to wait for her to leave. She was persistent and rang a third time, her head tilting up this time to catch the slight movement she sensed above her. He only needed that slight glimpse of her face. This wasn't a client.

He flew down the steps two at a time and threw the door open. She stepped back with a gasp. His face shifting through emotions almost faster than she could process. Recognition, shock, confusion, fear, back to shock.

The last time he had seen his sister, she was a child, all ruddy cheek and uncoordinated limbs, but he knew it was her. Her eyes hadn't changed.

He finally spoke. "Ainsley?"

She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him. He tensed at the hug at first, he couldn't quite get used to human contact like this, but feeling the warm press of someone he had missed so terribly, someone who he loved so much, someone who he had tried so hard to forget, he let his arms curl around her and pull her in. "Are you real?"

"Of course I am, can we please go inside, it's damn cold out here." She finally said against his chest with a soft chuckle.

He didn't want to let go, but he relented and led her upstairs.

Once they were in the warmth, he remembered how to speak. "I don't – How are you here?"

Ainsley tried to keep the mood light, shucking off her backpack and coat, letting it drop on top of where Sherlock had left his. "Airplane. Fascinating invention, it can get you from Chicago to London in about half a day, if you don't bother to waste time packing anything but the barest of essentials. I may need to go shopping. "She paused and watched him, her face shifting in concern. "I got here as fast as I could, I should have come sooner."

He couldn't stay still, pacing as she calmly stood and took off her gloves and scarf. "It's a bit exhausting though. Calling off work, finding flights, someone to watch the cat, but I'm here." She finally walked over to him, brushing a hand on his arm as he paced past. "La, you have to calm down. It's okay. Can we sit down please? I am a bit wiped out."

He spun on her so quickly and with a look in his eyes so dark and frightening she felt herself backing onto the couch. "You can't be here. You just can't. I'm not safe to be around." Focusing finally, he saw her face and quickly dropped down in front of her, grabbing both her hands to calm her, or maybe calm himself. She tensed involuntarily. "No, it's not—"He didn't know what to say anymore.

She swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. "It's okay. I know you won't hurt me." She steeled herself a bit, speaking barely above a whisper. "Mycroft told me, I sent him a text on Christmas, and he told me what happened." She put a hand on his cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I haven't been okay in a very long time." He moved to sit next to her on the couch, the room falling into the uncomfortable silence again before he spoke, needing to steer away from the darkness growing in the room. "You have a cat?"

"Yep." He smiled inside when she popped the p at the end of the word. Some things you do as children always stick. "One cat, one boring job, no boyfriend. Living the dream."

"God that sounds horrible, the cat and job, not sure how I would feel if you had a boyfriend." They both laughed.

"I heard about your last girlfriend. Sorry fiancé" She drew the word out with gentle mocking. "Not your best move."

"I needed to acquire information she had, I just utilized human nature. It was a means to an end." She felt him tense and worried she was leading them down a dark path again.

"And get shot?"

"Apparently."

"All my last boyfriend did was steal my microwave."

"She didn't shoot me." He took a beat. "Who steals a microwave?"

"Apparently the men I date."

They laughed again, it had been over twenty years since they had talked, but they fell into the same easiness they had felt when they were children.

"I've missed you. I never stopped missing you." She finally said, feeling like just saying it lifted a weight off her. "I always asked, tried to keep track, the blog helped, John seems nice." She paused, suddenly nervous in his silent focus on her. "Did you miss me?"

"I always assumed you hated me, it was all my fault, you got hurt, and sent away because I didn't know how to be normal. I still don't know how to be normal. Probably worse now. I couldn't let myself miss you, Ainsley. It hurt too much. The emotions were too intense. I had to push you away, deep in here," He tapped his temple gently, "so I could keep going. I'm sorry." He leaned forward and fell into his thinking position, peaked hands, elbows on knees. His hand ran through his hair as he sighed.

She reached forward and stroked his hair. "I never understood how you kept everything in there. You would look so lost. I never forgot that look, when you would just disappear into your own mind and look so lost."

"I've gotten better. Learned how to make it all make sense, organize it, but after what happened, I saw what that can become, having so much in your mind. Rooms and rooms of everything. It made him a monster. I think sometime that I am not far from that." She took his hand as he spoke, easing him back to the couch, pulling him against her shoulder and resuming gently stroking his hair.

"You're not a monster La, you just need ballast to keep your head straight. You have John, you have friends who care about you, and you have me now. I think you'll be okay." They sat for a long time after that in silence, just curled together, remembering what it was like to have someone you love close to you. It was like riding a bicycle.

ooOOoo

"They have a sister?" Mary was walking laps at the foot of their bed, the baby not letting her curl up like she wanted to. She pause for a moment and laughed. "What's she like?"

"She's interesting. She and Sherlock argue like they are still kids, but she also is the first person I have seen pull him out of the 'I am too smart to listen to anyone here' silent—thing—he does. It was amazing really. Oh, and she doesn't put up with Mycroft, so, that's always a plus."

"Oh, she's like their dad? Now I really want to meet her. If she tells either of them off in front of me, I might kiss her." John sat up at that.

"I—I wouldn't stop you, I mean, if you really felt compelled." He crawled to the end of the bed and reached for her wrist, pulling her to him to a quick kiss before she started laughing suddenly.

"What's funny now?"

"I just wonder what will happen when she meets Molly. I know Sherlock is oblivious, but Ainsley sure sounds like is not, THAT is going to be fun to watch.

ooOOoo

Ainsley woke up with a start the next morning, she'd fallen asleep curled up on the floor with Sherlock and had no recollection of being put to bed. She crept out of his bedroom and headed quietly to the kitchen to make coffee. She thought about making tea, but she was loath to admit that she had never caught that long ingrained British trait. She liked coffee, black, with two sugars. She barely was through the door and could hear Sherlock's pacing, the quiet methodical padding of his bare feet on the floor. She was surprised the floor didn't have ruts. "Sherlock?" No response. She switched tack, "La?" The padding stopped.

He came into the kitchen fully dressed except his shoes and started talking, apparently continuing a conversation that she was unaware they had been having, considering she had just woken up. "Mary is taking you shopping, John and I need to head down to NSY and go over some information Lestrade has pulled about this Moriarty situation, for once someone down there was able to do their job and has a lead on where the signal was coming from. You'll be safe with Mary and Mycroft is sending a car for the both of you so there will be someone watching. By the time you're done we should be at Bart's, I need to look over the reports from after his death, maybe there is something there they aren't seeing. I never should have let those files sit this long without looking them over. Molly was still helping me so I know they did something wrong. She's the only one there worth working with. Now if—"As he paced the kitchen and unleashed his seemingly never-ending stream of thought, she set about making coffee, her head suddenly pounding.

"LA! Calm down, please? I just woke up." He became instantly quiet and reticent. If anyone else had interrupted Sherlock Holmes, they would have been on the receiving end of an even longer tirade, but Ainsley wasn't just anyone. "What time is it?"

He fished his phone out of his pocket, "Half past nine."

"What time do we need to meet everyone?"

"Mary and John are on their way. It may be a bit, Mary has slowed down a bit since she got pregnant. It's inconvenient."

"How long is a bit?" She poured two cups of coffee, feeling on odd pang that she didn't know how he took his. "Coffee?"

"Half hour, and yes, black with two sugars."

She smiled and handed him a coffee. "So there is time for something for breakfast." She opened reached to open the fridge and he dashed over to stop her, remembering the bag of thumbs on the top shelf and not wanting to have to explain.

"I don't really eat. We'll have to go out if you want something since Mrs. Hudson isn't here."

Her face knotted in worry. "You don't want to eat, you have gone from pacing to deadly calm to pacing at the turn of a dime, did you sleep?" She put both her hands to his cheek and looked deeply into his eyes. "La, look at me."

He leaned back. "I'm not high, Ainsley." He carefully pulled her hands from his face, keeping hold of them. "I promise. This is just how I need to function when I am trying to find answers. I can't let things slow me down. Eating and sleeping just get in the way of work."

This didn't lessen her concern, if anything it made it worse. "Will you please have something to eat with me? For my sanity?"

"I'll consider it."

She sighed and slid her hands from his and headed to the bathroom to try to make herself a little more presentable. "I should have come back a long time ago."

He let a half smile come across his face. "I agree."

ooOOoo

Ainsley and Mary laughed as the got off the elevator a few hours later. John had sent her a text to let her know that he and Sherlock were at Bart's and, hopefully, close to done. The girls had already had a lovely lunch and had dropped off their prizes at Baker Street.

Ainsley felt a prickle of discomfort as they headed down to the pathology lab. Hospitals in general were not her favorite place, but the home of corpses seemed even worse. Hopefully they would not have to stay long.

They were greeted by the image of Sherlock clearly ready to snap someone in half. That someone was the grey haired man in from of him who held his hands up, clearly relenting. John stood between them, trying to smooth the situation.

"That's enough boys, fighting each other will not help this at all."

Sherlock huffed and pouted a bit. Lestrade turned around and made for the door, stopping once he saw Ainsley. "Oh, Hello." He extended his hand, eyes alight, whoever this girl was with Mary, she was striking. "Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

Ainsley shook his hand with a warm smile. "I'm Ainsley."

Sherlock instantly saw the look. "No, just, no. That is my sister. Don't hit on her."

Lestrade's eyes went wide and he looked back and forth between them. "No, wait, what?" He sighed, letting go of her hand a little too quickly. "Sorry."

Ainsley's look pierced into Sherlock. "No need to apologize Greg, my charming brother seems to forget that I am no longer seven. It's lovely to meet you."

They look at each other for a brief moment before Sherlock unceremoniously walked Lestrade out of the lab. "Thank you again, you were so much help. Bye now."

John and Mary just laughed.

Sherlock turned back went back to Ainsley, standing almost nose to nose, ready to have along talk with her about her clear lack of good sense in men, when Molly walked in and immediately started apologizing for what she thought she was walking in on. "Oh! I'm sorry, you, you need time to talk, I'll come back." John noticed her flush and spoke up to save the day.

"Oh Molly! No, it's fine. Sherlock was just – um—yeah—she's his sister!"

Sherlock gave Ainsley a 'we'll talk about this later' look and turned to Molly. "Yes, Molly, this is Ainsley, my clearly misguided sister."

"Shut up Sherlock. He was just introducing himself, Christ! Hello Molly." She offered the woman her hand and watched her eyes dart to Sherlock as she shook, noting the wash of relief. Interesting, this one clearly had a crush on her brother. "You've known my brother a while then?"

Molly tucked a loose hair behind her ear and smiled. "Yeah, he's here a lot."

Sherlock made a small noise of assent and Ainsley stepped back to watch the interaction with rapt attention. He was almost nice to her. "Did you find anything Molly?"

"I found the file Sherlock, it was almost as if someone didn't want us to find it. None of it makes sense to me." He leaned in closer to her as opened the file, reading over her shoulder. Ainsley knew for Sherlock that was intimate.

Ainsley raised an eyebrow, looking over at John, he smiled and shrugged.

"Well, it shouldn't make sense. It's all fake, I just need to figure out who helped him."

Molly looked up at him, "That's the weirdest part." She flipped to the end of the report. "All this paperwork says it was me."

"Clever, if I weren't alive, you'd have gone down for fraud and aiding a criminal once he came back. You really have the worst tastes in men Molly."

Her look could have set him on fire as she snapped the file closed and slapped it to his chest. He always knew the exact wrong thing to say. Her warm tone went. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you Sherlock. I can ask around and see who was on duty that night, but we have had some staffing changes since, so, there's no guarantee."

Ainsley watched at Sherlock switched from pompous to contrite in an instant. "I'm sorry, Molly, yes, if you could, thank you."

Her brother was endlessly fascinating. She remembered how he used to be with other people, intense, quiet, his mind shutting him off from just about everyone. She had figured that had not changed and had seen glimpses in how he interacted with John, Mary, Mycroft and the mysterious Detective Inspector. She'd read about his quirkiness on John's blog, so seeing him react to this girl the way he acts with her, was absolutely amazing. "Huh." She said before she realized she's made a noise.

His head popped up to meet her eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "Nothing at all."

ooOOoo

Back Baker Street, Ainsley cornered Mary in the kitchen as they set to cook while the boys discussed how to progress with the situation they found themselves in.

"So how long has my brother been in love with Molly?"


	3. Chapter 3

Here I thought I would go to bed, but I couldn't stop…. Slightly shorter but far more action… Enjoy 

Mary laughed, "Oh, I don't think it's as much as all that. She's a good friend is all."

Ainsley folded her arms over her chest. "Bullshit, sorry, no. He's a very difficult man. I know I've been gone a long time, and he is not the boy I left behind, but I do know one thing that hasn't changed. He doesn't treat other people the way he treats her. Mary he actually apologized to her. He did his Sherlock thing, she gave him a look and he apologized. I have only ever seen him act that way with one person." Mary was rapt. "He only does that with me. So, yeah, how long?"

Mary thought back to how long she'd known Sherlock and Molly. He had always been that way with her she thought. It was her normal. Now she wondered too. "I really have no idea. I haven't known them long enough. They've always been like that."

"We need John."

Mary waddled to the living room under the pretense of being too worn out to continue helping with cooking and asked John be a dear and go help Ainsley. He was not prepared for the attack. "Mary thinks I am mad, but I know La, how long has he been in love with Molly."

Unlike Mary however, John was vaguely aware of the shift in Sherlock's treatment of Molly since he'd come back, he knew Ainsley's assumptions were probably right. He'd just not given it much thought until he watched his best friend with his little sister, then things started to make a bit more sense. "I'd say the switch probably came when she helped him fake his death. Honestly, I didn't notice I saw how he was with you. He treats her the same way, that odd mix he has of lovingly telling you to piss off and then treating you like there is no one else in the room. It's fascinating."

"Yeah, I caught that today. I don't think she knows, hell I don't think HE knows. I love my brother, he's possibly the most insanely intelligent man I have ever met, but he also gets so into his own mind that he misses the obvious. I think I may need to have a sibling intervention."

John became nervous. "I don't know about that, I'm not sure if Molly still feels that way about him. Wouldn't want him to get hurt there."

"Oh, she does. No one puts up with my brother for that long if they don't love him." She smiled at John and patted his arm.

"Not gay, married."

"You're cute. Didn't mean to imply, but you do love him. So little sister will play cupid. On that note, tell me more about this DI."

It was at that moment that Sherlock passed through the kitchen to head to his bedroom. "John say nothing, Ainsley, no."

She shot him another look of death and shouted, "I hate you sometimes," at his retreating back.

Sherlock just replied with, "He steals microwaves."

ooOOoo

Molly was just waiting on a taxi outside of Bart's when her phone chirped

_Having dinner at Baker St. You should come by, made plenty and we need help outnumbering the boys. 3 – MW_

Molly couldn't help but chuckle.

_Sounds like a good plan, have some things I need to tell Sherlock anyway, can I bring anything? – MH_

Mary sent a text back at light speed.

_I wish I could say wine. Something sweet? – MW_

Molly fired of a quick 'Sure thing.' Before forgoing a taxi to walk a block or so to a small bakery on the high street. The smell alone of the warm shop made her moan softly, it was a beautifully quaint shop, all pastels and glossy soft sweets. She bend down to examine the multitude of offerings in the case when she heard footsteps move uncomfortably close to her and a familiar voice.

"I'd recommend the Blakewell tarts. They are lovely here." She snapped straight up and spun around, looking for the nearest exit, ready to break into a dead run if she had to, she miscalculated how close he was and gasped slightly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in tight, kissing her with a ferocity that stole all her breath.

When he finally let her mouth go, she was shaking her voice low and scared. "Jim."

"Oh yes dear, Daddy's home."

ooOOoo

With Sherlock being mysterious in his bedroom, Ainsley seized the opportunity to put a plan into action, almost skipping as she clapped her hands and plopped down onto the couch next to Mary. "Invite Molly to dinner."

Mary laughed softly at Ainsley's almost maniacal glee. "You're a demon, I love it." She quickly shot off texts to Molly. "Done, what now?"

"Now we wait." She pulled herself off the couch and set to finishing cooking, only stopping briefly to pound on Sherlock's door and check that he was not too lost in there. "La, we're having company for dinner, come be nice."

He muttered something about never agreeing to be social, but eventually relented when she started rapping on the door in an annoyingly measured cadence. "Christ, fine!" He went out to the living room to talk to Mary about John, not able to think of a suitable topic of discussion since his mind was still on finding Moriarty, he settled into pretending to listen while he bounced around in his own head. He started at the doorbell. Ainsley smiled, "Oh, that must be Molly; I'll get it, La, would you be a dear and setting the table please?" He glared at her and disappeared into the kitchen. She gave a wink to Mary and John and went to let Molly in leaving the door open behind her.

She opened the door, barely paying attention, "Hey Molly! Come on up, Sherlock's just setting the table." Halfway up the stairs she turned back finally and noticed the man walking close behind Molly, holding onto her. "Oh, Hello, I didn't realize you were bringing a date." Molly looked tense as Sherlock appeared immediately at the top of the stairs, hearing Molly was not alone.

"Ainsley, get up here, now."

"La don't be—"

"NOW! Upstairs!" He moved quickly to plant himself on the stairs between her and the couple, pushing her a little to make her move. John was at the door, reaching to pull her in.

"Oh Sherlock, no need to be rude. Aren't you going to introduce me?" James advanced on them, still holding Molly against him. "Ainsley was it? I'm James, pleasure to meet you." An absolutely lascivious grin slithered across his face. "My, my Sherlock, you do pick pretty ones. Is she working for someone as nefarious as Magnussen or" He mockingly gasped. "Oh my goodness, do I need to change your nickname?"

Sherlock advanced on them slowly. James pulled Molly's arm up tighter against her back, making her whimper in pain. "Were you all set to play fifth wheel tonight little Molly? Anything to get him to notice, huh? Poor little love-struck Molly, never gotten over the Virgin have you?" Molly started crying softly, James putting in a valiant effort to pop her shoulder from its socket.

"Let her go." Sherlock's words were razor sharp and cold. "This isn't about Molly or Ainsley. This is between you and me. Let her go."

"But I thought we could all have dinner, we brought tarts." James walked Molly forward then, easing up on her arm as they moved. "We have oh so much to talk about, let's all just tuck in, shall we?"

"Let her go, tell your boys to stand down, and we'll talk." Sherlock bore holes into him, refusing to back down, and knowing his nemesis would comply. Molly stumbled forward almost into his arms as James let her go. He smoothed out his suit and fired off a quick message.

"All clear now, so, what's for dinner?"

Sherlock put a protective arm around Molly and guided her up the stairs, James following close at heel like an over excited puppy. Everyone in the flat was on edge. Everyone except James and Ainsley. John stood in front of Mary, who was still on the couch, Sherlock moved Molly slightly behind him, keeping a hand on her and a keen eye on both James and Ainsley.

"It's rude to ignore your guests Sherlock, so, lovely Ainsley, you seem like an open-minded girl, your boyfriend here is practically fondling his pathologist, not even a tiny touch jealous?"

"Christ, why does everyone think you are my boyfriend, La?"

"La? So curious. Not your boyfriend and yet so familiar," it finally caught up to him, "oh my, my, so interesting, how dare you never tell me you have a lovely sister Sherlock. Tut, tut, naughty."

He moved closer and closer, Sherlock always between them. "Stop. Now."

"So touchy, I'm just making dinner conversation." James moved to sit at the kitchen table, taking the head seat. "We are still having dinner aren't we? Come on now kids, Daddy says it's dinner time" He pat the seat next to him. "Little sister can sit next to me."

Sherlock took the seat with a glare and motioned for John to sit on the other side of James, trying to keep the girls at a safe distance Molly next to Sherlock, Mary next to John, leaving the opposite head of the table for Ainsley.

"Now that's a shame, I'm going to have to shout all the way down the table to get to know sister."

"You're not here to talk to her. Why are you here?"

"Well, I was here to kill you, but now I want to get to know sister."

Ainsley gasped and turned to look at Sherlock, he tried to calm her a bit with a look.

Mary's hand tensed defensively around the knife next to her plate. "Now, now little mummy, let's not do anything rash here." He swiftly picked up his own knife and slammed it through John's hand and into the table, making him scream and Ainsley shoot up, backing away from the table. Sherlock rose slowly, pivoting himself between the madman and Molly, not daring to move more than that. "When we threaten Daddy, people get hurt. Now, stop right there little sister, don't rabbit off, be a love and serve?" He forcefully yanked the knife from John's hand and casually wiped the blade clean on his napkin, keeping it in his hand. He pointed the blade at Sherlock. "Sit!" Sherlock lowered himself back into his seat, remaining turned toward James, blocking Molly.

John pulled his injured hand to his chest and let out several heavy breaths before letting Mary take it from him to examine the wound.

Ainsley started to move to bring the food to the table, her hands shaking. She carefully set the large serving bowls of pasta and salad on the table, trying to steer a wide path around James.

"Now, now, manners little sister," he turned to Sherlock, "They don't teach them anything over there do they," he'd noted her accent and assumed this long lost sister had been shipped off to the states long ago. "Serve the head of the table first."

She looked to Sherlock and he gave her a wary nod, knowing at this point it was best to just comply with the insanity. She moved next to him and took his plate, carefully serving the food for him. She jumped as he put his hand to her rear end and gave it a perfunctory pat. "There's a good girl, now the other guests." Her breath grew tense and ragged as she moved around the table to serve the others, tears starting to prick her eyes.

Sherlock's jaw tensed as he watched, calculating his options. His phone was in his bedroom so sending a message to Mycroft or Lestrade was out. The table knives were off the list, Moriarty was fast, and had his eyes on their every movement. When he saw him touch his sister, he had to summon all his will to not jump out of his skin and strangle the man, but that would have ended with the knife in the other man's hand buried in a place far more painful than his hand. His mind was racing, a rocket stuck and burning on launch.

Ainsley finally sat back down, shaking and crying softly. She'd never been this scared in her life. She knew that her brother frequently had gotten himself into dangerous situations, but something about the calm yet menacing civility of this happy little dinner scene was making her nauseous with fear. She finally spoke. "Why are you doing this?"

"I simply want to get to know you, dear. Sherlock never told me he had a lovely little sister I could play with, so many lovely options now. Mary, do take your husband to the bathroom and tend to his hand. His whimpering is putting my off my meal." She rose slowly to help John, wondering if Sherlock kept a gun in his room. James locked eyes on her as if reading her thoughts. "And do keep from doing anything stupid or my next little love poke will be somewhere far worse than in a hand." The room fell silent as they went into the bathroom. "Leave the door open, no hanky-panky in there." He turned his full focus on Ainsley again. "Now that there is an open seat, move a little closer to Daddy, I'm tired to having to shout down to you." He pat the empty seat and she moved slowly to comply.

"Good girl. Now, I am just gasping to know all about you, dear. Tell me about America, how did you end up all the way over there? Were you too naughty to stay with Mummy and Daddy and Mycy and you little La here?"

She shook silently with tears. He wouldn't relent, grabbing her hand roughly and pulling her closer to him. "ANSWER ME!" He noticed the scars on her arm as the sleeve inched up when he pulled. Molly gasped. "Oh my, my, what happened here?" He ran a finger over the spider webs.

"Don't TOUCH her!" Sherlock snapped, popping to his feet once again.

James moved with equal speed. Springing up and pulling Ainsley to him. His knife against her neck. "Well, well Sherlock, it's been absolutely lovely stopping by, but things are getting a little too tense for me, I think we'll be going, now." He inched back toward the door, pressing the blade tight to her throat. "Sit down and finish your dinner, no need to see us out." Sherlock began to stalk toward them, only stopping then the series of red dots appeared on his, and judging from Molly's sudden sob, her own, chests. "Don't worry, we'll be in touch. Bye."

Sherlock's fists balled at his sides, his breath coming fast and hard as he watched Moriarty leave with his sister. Once they were gone and he heard the downstairs door slam, the laser sights were gone and he flew from the room, down the stairs and out the door to see the black car well down the road in the distance. Molly was at his side as he fell to his knees. Things just got a lot worse.


End file.
